


The Best Song Yet

by papercloudx



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Romantic Comedy, a short sequence in which Geralt thinks of canon-typical violence, idiots pining for each other, nothing graphic and nothing actually happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papercloudx/pseuds/papercloudx
Summary: Romantic Comedy/Fluff. Geralt would not admit it to anyone, but he cares for you and Jaskier. Since both of you refuse to make the first step, he is forced to intervene.Based on two tumblr requests, so this is cross-posted!
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	The Best Song Yet

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble. Look what Jaskier made me do!! I also read a story that would have fit the two requests not too long ago, so I tried to make this a little different by writing from Geralt’s POV.

Geralt thought to himself, if he heard one more person proclaim “You make such a cute couple!”, followed by a high pitched giggle or an “Oh stop it, we’re not a couple,” or whatever the fuck his travel companions decided to answer that day, he would not hesitate to pull out his sword and decapitate whoever had the insolence to ask that question. Wait. Maybe he could draw both swords at the same time and perform a circular motion, striking down the enquirer, the bard _and_ the woman in one go. 

Yes. That would indeed be best.

The two people—couple, but still refusing to call each other that—in question were completely oblivious to his plans. They were, in fact, oblivious to most things. Jaskier would probably trip over his own feet while staring at her. Maybe he would manage to turn just so and fall on his lute, silencing the bard forever? She, on the other hand, at least had the decency to stare only when she thought no one was looking. Not that it was working. Geralt _saw_ , every moment of every day that he was forced to travel with them, for he could not seem to shake them off. 

The myths said Witchers had no feelings. If only, Geralt thought. The one feeling they certainly didn’t take from him was annoyance.

“Geralt.” A long, overly dramatic almost-moan of his name. “Geraaalt. I can’t walk anymore. Can we make camp?” It would forever remain a mystery how Jaskier, who had been at the Witcher’s side for years now, and _should_ be used to a day’s walk, possessed all the patience and endurance of a five-year-old. Geralt had long given up on ignoring the bard’s whining. For all the patience and endurance he lacked when it came to physical activities, Jaskier had a very, very long breath when it came to forcing his needs on other people.

Geralt could see her hiding a smile behind one hand, her eyes crinkling, watching Jaskier with so much admiration that it almost made the Witcher sick. This was one of the few moments when he was sure it was not the djinn who made him wish for Yennefer’s presence. Her abrasive nature would make such a welcome contrast to the two love-sick idiots following his every step.

The sun was slowly approaching the horizon. If they stopped now, it would have to be for the night. Geralt considered for a short time, weighing his sanity against the few extra miles they could make. With a meaningful “Hmm,” the Witcher tied Roach to a tree at the side of the road and motioned for his companions to set up camp. Jaskier cheered, and she started clapping and cheering along. 

Surely, these two had someone else they could torture with their presence?

When night fell, she was quick to hide in her tent. Geralt’s sharpened senses picked up how her breathing evened out, and he knew her to be asleep within moments. Which meant his least favourite time of the day started now.

“Oh Geralt.” No one but Jaskier could make his name sound quite so _mournful_ and _demanding_ at the same time. “Do you think she will ever look at me as more than a friend?” The Witcher almost lectured his friend on the way she looked at him, and how everyone but them could so easily see the love between them, and how they should finally address their feelings for one another in more than jest.

But he was Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher of few words, so he said nothing.

Now, this did not stop Jaskier from further lamenting his fate; he had never needed another person to uphold a conversation, and no matter how much Geralt wished he had asked the djinn for the ability to take the bard’s voice whenever he pleased, Jaskier would not change now. “Geralt. She is the fairest maiden I have ever laid eyes on. No, make that the fairest _person_. She is perfect. Such beauty, such grace. Oh Geralt, I think I need to write another song about her.”

“Do what you need to do,” was all the answer Jaskier received, as Geralt set up his bedroll. The Witcher fell asleep to a myriad of rhymes on her name, one more ridiculous than the last. 

\---

As much as he did not care for their romance, it still pained Geralt to see her face when she watched Jaskier flirt with other people. (The truth was: Geralt did care, but it would need the spell of the mightiest sorceress to make him admit this.) He knew the bard did not mean anything by it; it was, simply put, Jaskier’s nature to make compliments, to wink, to dance with other people. Sometimes, they mistook his natural charm for more. (Geralt had been told that Jaskier possessed such a thing. He was not so sure what made people mistake presumptuousness with charm.)

But she was oblivious to the bard’s feelings for her, and while she tried hard to put on a brave face, Geralt could see her smile crumpling a little more with every hand kiss, every carefully placed ‘unintentional’ touch.

“You should tell him,” Geralt remarked. Her eyes widened for the shortest of moments, before she regained her composure. “I would not dare interrupt Jaskier on his routines. And anyway, there is nothing to tell.”

Geralt grunted, but said nothing else. It was not his business, he told himself. If they wanted to torture each other, that was their choice. 

When she excused herself after a particularly heated dance between Jaskier and one of the patrons, and Geralt saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes, he knew he could not stand by idly. He told himself it was because he could not possibly endure these displays of drama and youthful emotions any longer. Only Yennefer would have had the courage to point out that the Witcher wanted his friends to be happy. 

It was easy to grab Jaskier, who was drunk on applause and praise, by the arm and drag him upstairs. Geralt ignored the bard’s protests as he—somewhat unruly, but with the best intentions—shoved him into the room the three of them rented and locked the door behind him. 

“Figure it out,” was all Geralt said, before he left downstairs for another round of ale and cards.

\---

You were startled when someone—was that Geralt?—shoved Jaskier into the room. You heard a key turn, and quickly tried to dry your tears with a handkerchief as Jaskier beat his fists against the door, shouting “Geralt! Hey, what was that for? Let me out!”

Even in your current state, you could not stop the laugh that bubbled from your throat. This made the bard turn around, and you saw the surprise on his face as his lips formed into a tentative smile. Jaskier was so endearing, so beautiful, so… unreachable.

Tears swelled up in your eyes again, and you quickly hid your face in your hands. You wished to be a sorceress in that moment, to say a few magic words and make yourself invisible—or even better, to disappear into another dimension altogether. Why would Geralt do this! Why would he humiliate you so?

You felt a feather-light touch on your hands as Jaskier slowly, ever so slowly, pulled them away from your face. 

“Darling, what is it? Why are you crying?”

You pressed your eyes shut, willing away the entire situation, and shook your head. “I can’t… I couldn’t… Oh Jaskier, surely it must be obvious?”

There was a small pause as Jaskier seemed to wait for you to explain what you meant. When he realized you would not give him more to go on, he asked, “What do you mean? I don’t… I don’t think I understand.”

It was as if a dam had been broken, and you could not stop the emotions spilling forth as you sobbed, “You sing, and you dance, and you pay attention to everyone but me! I have tried so hard to see you as a friend only, I have—Oh Jaskier, you must believe me, I have. But it hurts so much to see you fall in love over and over again, when all I wish is that it was me you would fall in love with.” You look into his face then, both scared of what he would say and daring to hope, without logical explanation, that he would say the words you so desperately needed to hear.

Jaskier blinked, once, twice, and then said: “I have not fallen in love for a long time.” Your heart breaks into a thousand little pieces then; you can feel them sailing through your blood stream, leaving burning sensations wherever they went. Your face, your hands, your stomach; everything felt like it was on fire, inflamed by the pain in your heart at Jaskier’s words.

It took Jaskier a moment to realize what he just said, and to interpret your reaction correctly. “I mean! I mean, I—I have not fallen in love since I. Since I met _you_.”

He was close enough that you could smell the faintest bit of ale on his breath—though Jaskier never drank much when he performed—and you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. You longed to touch him, to confirm what you believed he just said—could it be—?

Instinctually, you moved closer towards him, angling your face upwards, watching his lips, waiting for confirmation. Your heart had rearranged itself, not longer shattered but whole and beating and hoping again—

Jaskier captured your lips in a kiss, and you closed your eyes to revel in the feeling of his mouth moving against yours. In that moment, he was everywhere—his hands on your hips, roaming your body, his warmth engulfing you, both anchoring you in this room and sending you to a place far away, where all the pain and the longing of the last weeks and months was transformed into pure bliss instead. 

You were the one who had to break the kiss to gulp for air, and you opened your eyes to see Jaskier looking at you with so much _love_ and _admiration_ —it was hard to believe you had missed this, or convinced yourself that he would never look at you as more than a friend. You felt foolish, but that was then, and this was now, and it was perfect just like this.

It was Jaskier’s turn to laugh now as he let his head fall back against the wooden wall of the room. 

“What’s so funny?”, you asked.

“It’s just. I can’t believe… I can’t believe it took _Geralt locking us into a room_ to admit our feelings.”

There was a moment of silence as you processed what Jaskier had just said. It was, indeed, ridiculous—that the Witcher should notice this before either of you did!

Jaskier smiled to himself, and with one last, shaky laugh that could almost pass for a sigh, he said: “This has the makings of my greatest song yet.”


End file.
